Daybreak: The Twilight Saga Revamped
by dramagirl9905
Summary: A project my friend and I started as a joke, but then really liked. We're re-writing the Twilight series - filling in some gaps, changing things we didn't like. The core of the story will stay the same. Bella meets a vampire named Edward, they fall in love, it's complicated, but things turn out well for them in the end. Hope you like it, R&R, please. (REVISING)


Daybreak

The Twilight Saga: Revamped

(Yes, that was a pun.)

Chapter 1: A Whole New World

I breathed out a sigh of exhaustion and accomplishment as I successfully taped up the last of my boxes. And I only cut myself on the tape gun twice today! If I didn't know I would be leaving in two hours, I'd say that today is going to be a pretty good day. Alas, I'm perfectly aware of the fact that I am moving from beautiful, sunny Phoenix, Arizona to the stiflingly small and rainy town of Forks, Washington.

Three weeks ago, my room had yellow walls with an odd mess of different colored polka dots and stripes. The paint job was courtesy of one of my mother's impulsive home-improvement kicks. Nothing in the house stayed the same for more than a year. She always said that a house should change just as much as the people living in it. Mom changes so much that it's the one thing about her that I can always count on – there will always be some new fad or idea to act upon. Meanwhile, I stagnate. Maybe that's why I let her choose all the color schemes and patterns. Regardless, my room was now a sterile white that was far too similar to a hospital for my liking. How white is attractive to home buyers, I will never know.

Empty bedroom, empty hallway, empty house. Everything was put away into boxes and the boxes were either at my stepdad's apartment or are going to be shipped to Forks. When Mom and Phil got married last year, the plan was for the three of us to live in this house, the one I'd grown up in. But with Phil traveling so often, and Mom wishing she could travel with him, the house was suddenly impractical. There were plenty of apartments Mom and Phil could live in comfortably and freely travel. As long as I wasn't around to weigh them down.

Mom and Phil would never dream of asking me to move out, but I knew that they needed time together. Time without a seventeen-year-old daughter waiting for them to come back home. So, I volunteered to live with my dad, Charlie, until I graduate and move somewhere for college.

My mom drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite shirt – sleeveless, white eyelet-lace – as a farewell gesture.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains in this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. My mother and I escaped this godforsaken town when I was only a few months old. I was required to spend a month in Forks every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I threw a fit, which I'm still not proud of, but you can't argue with the results. For the past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.

"Bella," my mom turned to me before I got on the plane, "You don't have to do this."

My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. Small frame, pale skin, dark brown eyes that match dark brown hair. I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, hare-brained mother to fend for herself? Of course she had her new husband, Phil, now, so the bills would get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call if she gets lost, but still…

"I _want_ to go," I lied. I'd always been a bad liar, but I'd been saying this particular lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now. I could tell she didn't truly believe me, but my mind was set. I was giving her space, giving her a chance to live with her new husband without any interruptions. I know she loves me, but she loves Phil, too, and deserves some time to be with him. Alone.

"Tell Charlie I said hi."

"I will."

"I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want – I'll come right back as soon as you need me." But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.

"Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom."

She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane, and she was gone. A few minutes later, we took off and I was floating away from everything I knew. I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city. And now I was leaving.

Four hours in a plane to Seattle. Another hour in a small plane to Port Angeles. And yet another hour driving to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me; however, the imminent silence in the car with Charlie unsettled me.

Charlie seemed genuinely pleased that, for the first time ever, I was choosing to live with him with any degree of permanence. He'd already registered me for high school and was going to help me get a car.

But living with him was guaranteed to be awkward. Neither of us was what anyone would call verbose. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decisions – just like my mother before me, I hadn't exactly made a secret of my abhorrence for Forks.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. It wasn't an omen or anything – just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to my sun.

Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. He is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. Coincidentally, Police Chief Swan was my primary motivation for buying a car. Despite the scarcity of my funds, I refuse to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. What a great first impression.

Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled, literally, my way off the plane.

"It's good to see you, Bells," he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied me. I no longer think about my balance deficiencies – they are just my way of life. "You haven't changed much. How's Renée?"

"Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, Dad." I forced myself to call him Dad and not Charlie. Force of habit, but it just seemed rude.

I only had a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington. My mom and I had pulled our money together to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still meager. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," he announced as we slid into the cop car.

"What kind of car?" I heard warning bells when he said "good car for _you_" as opposed to just "good car." We pulled out of the airport parking lot and started the drive toward Charlie's – now mine, too, I guess – house.

"Well, it's a truck, actually. A Chevy."

"Where did you find it?" _Please, don't say a junkyard._

"Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indian reservation on the coast.

Blank stare. "No."

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted.

That would explain why I didn't remember him. I tend to block unpleasant, unnecessary things.

"He's in a wheelchair now," Charlie continued when I didn't respond, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me in his truck cheap."

"What year is it?" I could see from his grimace that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask. _Come on, Charlie. That's the _one_ thing I know about cars, of course I'm going to want that information._

"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine – it's only a few years old, really."

Really. I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up that easily. "When did he buy it?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think," he answered a little too quickly for my liking.

"Did he buy it _new_?"

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties – or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly.

"Ch – Dad," almost slipped up there, "I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic…."

"Really, Bella, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."

_The thing, _I thought to myself… it had possibilities – as a nickname, at the very least.

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on.

"Well, honey, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Charlie peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.

"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car." Don't get me wrong, I was really grateful. I just don't like when other people spend money on me. And I really wasn't expecting a free car.

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I inherited that from him. So I was looking straight ahead as I responded.

"That's really nice, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it." Well, it's not a bad start. Maybe living in Forks won't be as bleak as I first thought? Maybe if I repeated that enough, I'd start to believe it. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth – or engine.

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. We stared out the windows in silence.

It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves.

It was too green – an alien planet.

Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage – the only kind of days their marriage had. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new – well, new to me – truck. It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. To my surprise, I loved it. I didn't even know if it would run, but I could see myself in it. It was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged – the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.

"Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!" Now, I wouldn't be faced with the choice of either walking two miles to school in the rain or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser.

"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again.

It took only one trip to get all my stuff into the bedroom I'd had since I was born. The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window that faced the front yard – these were all a part of my childhood. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner. The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. The desk now held a second-hand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily.

There was only one small bathroom in the house, which I would have to share with Charlie. I was trying not to dwell too much on that fact.

One of the best things about Charlie is that he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother. It was nice to be alone, not to have to make small talk. I could just think about how I would adjust to my new life here. I would reinvent myself. In Phoenix, I was shy and never really talked to anyone. I would change that here. I would at least make an effort to make friends and fit in – or come as close to fitting in as I possibly could.

Forks High School had a frighteningly small total of only three hundred and fifty-seven – now fifty-eight – students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids here had grown up together – their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be the new girl from the big city.

Maybe, if I looked like a typical girl from Phoenix, I could work this to my advantage. But physically, I've never fit in anywhere. I _should_ be tan, sporty, blonde – a volleyball player, or a cheerleader (ha, yeah, _that'll_ happen), perhaps – all the things that go with living in the valley of the sun.

Instead, I am pale. Not just your typical light skin; I mean the-sun-reflects-off-of-me-and-you-need-sunglasses pale, despite the constant sunshine. I have always been slender, but soft somehow, obviously not an athlete; I don't have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without humiliating myself – and harming both myself and anyone else who stood too close.

Well, that's one thing I probably won't be able to change about myself. How I interact with others, sure. How I catch or throw a ball, no. I hope they have a good doctor in this town.

Charlie had set aside the day to pick me up from the airport and help me move in. But there wasn't much for him to do without us bumping into each other. So he put on the news while I unpacked. He ordered pizza for dinner – Charlie's probably only cooked a dozen times in his lifetime – and it arrived just as I was finishing putting my clothes in my dresser. The doorbell startled me and I tripped over the edge of my dresser, dropping the clothes in my hand as I collapsed onto the floor. As far as a frequent faller is concerned, landing on folded clothes as if they were pillows was actually pretty lucky.

Picking myself up off the floor, and quickly refolding my makeshift landing mats, I went into the living room for dinner. Charlie didn't move his eyes from the TV, so I was surprised when he asked, "Everything okay, Bells?"

"I'm fine, Dad. Just accident-prone."

"First aid's in the bathroom cabinet if you need it. Fully stocked. But I can buy more Band-Aids tomorrow if you need them," he chuckled.

"Ha. Funny." Unfortunately, I probably _would_ exhaust our current medical supplies fairly quickly. Dinner after that was spent in comfortable silence, except for the TV.

I didn't sleep well that night, the unfamiliar sound of incessant rain across the roof refused to fade into the background. I pulled my faded old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.

Breakfast with Charlie was quiet. After he left for work, I looked around the kitchen that had not changed in eighteen years. I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three mismatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. Those were embarrassing to look at – I would have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable and kind of sad.

Nerves pounded in my stomach and chest. Today was the beginning of an entirely different life. _Deep breath, Bella. You'll be fine. What's the worst that could happen?_ Rather than actually answering that potentially hazardous question, I checked my reflection in the bathroom mirror one more time. I was wearing a simple navy long-sleeve shirt over plain blue jeans. I had considered dressing up for my first day, but figured that I was already going to stand out like an alien; I didn't want to feel like one, too.

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I knew it was technically my home now, but that didn't stop me from feeling like an intruder. I donned my jacket – which had the feel of a biohazard suit – and headed out into the rain.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the mist that swirled around my head and clung to my hair.

The inside of the truck was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, an unexpected bonus.

Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign kept me from driving right past it. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. _Where was the feel of the institution? _I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors, the grumpy security guards?

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading FRONT OFFICE. No one else was parked there, so I wasn't sure if it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I reluctantly stepped out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges.

Inside, it was brightly lit, and more than warm enough to compensate for the chilly weather outside. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed.

The redhead looked up. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Isabella Swan," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light in her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Daughter of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come home at last.

"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show me.

She went through my classes for me, highlighting in the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me.

I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the truck.

As I walked along the sidewalk, I noticed that my plain black jacket didn't stand out. Thank goodness. Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats into the classroom.

The classroom was small, but that made sense. Everything about this town was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a stand-out here.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name – not an encouraging response – and I flushed tomato red. But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed. I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Brontë, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything required for this semester. That was comforting… and boring. I wondered if Mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head while Mr. Mason droned on.

When the bell rang, a gangly boy with skin problems and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the table to talk to me.

"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type.

"Yes, but I prefer to be called Bella," I corrected him as quietly as I could manage and still be heard. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.

"Where's your next class?" he asked.

I had to check in my bag. "Um, Government with Jefferson, in building six."

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way…." Definitely over-helpful. "I'm Eric," he added.

I smiled tentatively. "Thanks."

We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid. Then again, I was also hoping I was wrong. I couldn't tell which was worse – being paranoid about people following me, or being right about people following me.

"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked.

"Complete opposites."

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"

"Only three or four times a year."

"Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered.

"Sunny."

"You don't look very tan."

"My mother is part albino."

He studied my face apprehensively – effectively ending our almost-conversation – and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor don't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm.

We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." He sounded hopeful.

I smiled at him vaguely and went inside.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, whom I would have hated anyway because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, blushed, and tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat. Lovely.

After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I lied a lot.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than my five feet four inches, but her wildly curly dark hair made up a lot of the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name (oops. This attempt at being friendly is working out _really _well so far.), so I smiled and nodded as she prattled on about teachers and classes. I tried to keep up. It didn't work very well; she talks fast.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, whom she introduced to me. "This is Daniel, our token gay guy. Rachel's the ginger; the black girl is Sarah. Angela's the giant at the end of the table. Ol' Four-Eyes sitting next to her is Ben. You've met our geeky little Eric. Where's Mike? He must still be in the lunch line. And the blonde is Lauren. We rule the school." To be perfectly honest, I was a little taken aback at her introductions. They were what I would have thought to be crass or offensive, but everyone at the table seemed to accept them as part of her sense of humor.

Of the names that Girl-Whose-Name-Is-Still-A-Mystery-To-Me rattled off, I caught and remembered three of them. Daniel was a blond who had to be wearing contacts because no one has eyes that are so vibrantly violet. I recognized from Trig; he seemed really funny, a little arrogant, but a nice enough person. Rachel's fiery red hair seemed to be a perfect match to her personality. Her bright blue eyes were sharp. She was the most sarcastic person at the table, the least afraid to speak her mind, and the only person who didn't stare at me like I was from a different planet – an indication that we would likely get along pretty well. Sarah was undoubtedly an artist, or very clumsy, because her dark arms were covered in paint splatters from her art class. She was kind of quiet but had a fun and easy sense of humor. I was a spectator in most of the conversations, but they were nice enough to try to include me every once in a while.

About ten minutes into lunch, the door flew open, and everyone else ignored the cold wind like it was normal – which, I guess here it was – but I shivered and looked up.

Five of the most beautiful people I've ever seen in my life walked to a corner of the cafeteria, as far away from the other students as they could get. Three boys and two girls. The biggest guy left the other four at the table to get lunches for all of them. The rest of the school moved out of his way, so the line took him no time at all. When he got back, none of them were talking and nobody touched a single item on any of their trays.

They didn't look alike at all. The big guy who'd gone to get food was muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark curly hair. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. The last was lanky, less bulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair. He was more boyish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here.

The girls were opposites. The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, the kind you see on the cover of the _Sports Illustrated_ swimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was golden, gently waving to the middle of her back. The short girl was pixie-like, thin in the extreme, yet not unhealthy-looking, with small features. Her hair was a deep black, cropped short and intentionally pointing in every direction.

And yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than me, the albino – I didn't even think that was possible. They all had very dark eyes despite the range in hair tones. They also had dark shadows under those eyes – purplish, bruise-like shadows. As if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almost done recovering from a broken nose. But their noses, all their features really, were straight, angular, and perfect.

But all this is not why I couldn't look away.

I stared because their faces, so different, yet so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful – maybe the perfect blonde girl, or the bronze-haired boy.

They were all looking away – away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. As I watched, the small girl rose with her tray – unopened soda, unbitten apple – and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer's step – Mom tried to get me to do ballet when I was younger. Even with countless hours of trying, I was never anywhere close to that graceful – until she dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging.

"Who are _they_?" I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I still hadn't remembered. Working on it, though.

As she looked up to see who I meant – though already knowing, probably, from my tone – suddenly he looked at her, the bronze-haired boy. He looked at my still nameless neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to mine.

He looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush of embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance, his face held nothing of interest – it was as if she had called his name, and he'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer. Weird.

"That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife." She said this under her breath.

I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking at a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, his perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, but it sort of looked like he was speaking quietly to them. It was undoubtedly the weirdest interaction between a family I'd ever seen.

Strange, unpopular names. The kinds of names grandparents had. But maybe that was in vogue here – small town names? No, the girl sitting next to me was named Jessica (finally! I remembered it!), a perfectly common name. There were two Jessicas in my History class back home.

"They are... wow, they're good looking." Understatement of the century.

"Yes!" Jessica agreed with another giggle. "They're all _together_ though – Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they _live _together." Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip.

"Which ones are the Cullens?" I asked. "They don't look related.…"

"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his late twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted. The Hales _are_ brother and sister, twins – the blondes – and they're foster children."

"They look a little old for foster children."

"They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they've been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt or something like that."

"That's really kind of nice – for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything."

"I guess so," Jessica admitted reluctantly, and I got the impression that she didn't like the doctor and his wife for some reason. With the glances she was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume the reason was jealousy. "I think that Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, though," she added, as if that somehow lessened their kindness.

Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strangely formed family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat.

"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked. Surely I would have noticed them on one of my summers here.

"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like me. "They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."

I felt a surge of pity and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief because I wasn't the only newcomer here – and I was certainly not the most interesting, by any standard.

As I examined them, the youngest, one of the Cullens, looked up and met my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in his expression, though not exactly the same curiosity I had seen from every other student today. As I looked swiftly away, it seemed to me that his glance held some kind of unmet expectation.

"Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?" I asked. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, and he was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today – he had a slightly frustrated expression. I looked down again.

"That's Edward. He's gorgeous, of course, but don't waste your time. He doesn't date. Apparently, none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him." Can we say bitter? I wondered when he'd turned her down. Mean as I know it may have been, I had to fight the urge to smile. Then I glanced at him again. He turned away, but I could have sworn I saw him smiling, too.

After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful – even the big, brawny one. It was unsettling to watch. The one named Edward didn't look at me again.

I sat at the table with Jessica and her friends longer than I would have if I'd been sitting alone. I was anxious to not be late for classes on my first day. The tall girl, Angela, had Biology II with me for our next hour so she walked to class with me. We were both quiet; apparently she was shy, too. Glad to know I wasn't the only one.

When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the corner aisle, I saw Edward Cullen sitting next to the only open seat in the class.

As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching him surreptitiously. Just as I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face – it was hostile, furious. I looked away quickly, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over a book in the walkway – okay, really, who puts a book in the middle of the aisle?! – and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there giggled. Thanks, bitch.

I don't know why I looked back at Edward Cullen, but I did. His furious eyes were black – coal black.

Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book without any nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by _him_, bewildered by the antagonistic look he'd given me.

I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw his posture change from the corner of my eye. He was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face like he smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I hoped, I sniffed my hair. It smelled like strawberries, the scent of my favorite shampoo. It seemed an innocent enough odor. I let my hair fall over my right shoulder, making a dark curtain between us, and tried to pay attention to Mr. Banner.

Unfortunately, the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down.

I couldn't stop myself from peeking occasionally through the screen of my hair at the strange boy next to me. During the whole class, he never relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far from me as possible. I could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, he never relaxed. He had the long sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to his elbows, and his forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath his light skin. Yum, but that's beside the point. And he wasn't nearly as slight as he'd looked next to his burly brother.

The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close, or because I was waiting for his tight fist to loosen? It never did; he continued to sit so still it looked like he wasn't breathing. What the hell was wrong with him? Was this his normal behavior? I questioned my judgment on Jessica's bitterness at lunch today. Maybe she was not as resentful as I'd thought.

It couldn't have anything to do with me. He didn't know me from Eve.

I peeked up at him one more time, and instantly regretted it. He was glaring down at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from him, shrinking against my chair, the phrase _if looks could kill_ suddenly ran through my mind.

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump and Edward freaky Cullen bolted out of his seat. Fluidly he rose – he was much taller than I'd thought – his back to me, and he was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat.

I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after him. What was that about? I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the anger that filled me. _Calm down, Bella. Just calm down. You don't want to cause a scene. _For some reason, my temper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually cried when I was angry, a humiliating tendency.

"Aren't you Isabella Swan?" a male voice asked.

I looked up to see a cute boy with pale blond hair that was carefully gelled into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. _He_ obviously didn't think I smelled bad.

"Bella," I corrected him with a smile.

"I'm Mike."

"Hi, Mike."

"Do you need any help finding your next class?"

"I'm headed to the gym, actually, I think I can find it." Well, shit.

"That's my next class, too." He seemed thrilled, though it wasn't much of a shock in a school this small.

We walked to class together; he was a chatterer – he supplied most of the conversation, which was fine with me. He'd lived in California till he was ten, so he knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out he was in my English class also. He and Angela were the nicest people I'd met today.

But as we were entering the gym, he asked, "So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that."

I cringed inwardly. So I wasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that _wasn't_ Edward Cullen's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.

"Was that the boy I sat next to in Biology?" I asked artlessly.

"Yeah," he said. "He looked like he was in pain or something."

"I don't know," I responded. "I never even spoke to him."

"He's a weird guy." Mike lingered by me instead of heading to the dressing room. "If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you."

I laughed quietly and blushed profusely before walking through the girls' locker room door. He was friendly and clearly admiring. But it wasn't quite enough to ease my irritation.

The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn't make me dress down for today's class. At home, only two years of P.E. were required. Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years. Please tell me, why the hell is that necessary? I know we use math in the real world, some of it, but running around? I don't see how that'll be used in any job I ever get.

I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many injuries I had sustained – and inflicted – playing volleyball, I felt faintly nauseated.

The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong and cold.

When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out.

Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized the bronze hair immediately. He didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free.

He was arguing with her in a low, incredibly attractive voice. You know those voices that even though the person is only speaking, you know that he would be a fantastic singer? The voice that just makes you melt into a puddle of mush? Yeah, that's Edward Cullen's voice exactly. He was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time – any other time.

Seriously, what the hell? I just couldn't believe that this was about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look on his face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me.

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Edward Cullen's back stiffened, and he turned slowly to glare at me – it was probably a bad time to note how absurdly handsome he was – with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. He turned back to the receptionist.

"Never mind, then," he said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." And he turned on his heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door.

I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed her the signed slip.

"How did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked kindly.

"Fine.´" Sixth hour and the past two minutes notwithstanding. I'd done a pretty good job getting along with the people I met, except for Edward Cullen. But in the grand scheme of things, what difference could one person make in my life? Especially some random asshole.


End file.
